Boiling
by MelTheAngryVegan
Summary: Pitch offered to help but Jack knew that any chance of him cooperating was gone after he was confronted in the lair. Jack learns that he is stronger than even he suspects. But when the first drop of blood falls, he starts to feel just how painful it felt to burn. (Unofficial sequel to "Talk" but can be read as a stand-alone. Warnings: Violence, blood/gore, and character death.)


**A/N: **_After seeing another wonderful analysis of the scene in Antarctica, I decided to write something more from Jack's perspective! Except it turned out... really... creepy... and kinda weird... Oh well, that's how most of my writing turns out xDx That's why it can be read as a stand-alone from my other oneshot, Talk; at least, until I decide to write more for this eventually. (If you're a first-time reader, the story can be viewed on my Profile, and it might be worth you checking it out!)_

_Warnings ahead: violence, some blood/gore, and character death. I think I'm going to start a series of oneshots based on this, but don't get your hopes up! (okay you can get them up a little bit because there's a good chance that it will happen.))_

_Aslo, some headcanon info here incorporated into the story: Jack's blood is warm. Warm enough that it can actually burn him and boil his skin, which can make for some nasty blisters. But that will be for another time. Without further ado, enjoy~!_

* * *

Jack knew that as soon as he stopped Pitch from leaving that there was no turning back. But still, even as he opened is mouth to talk, he could not form the right words. The right words to explain the sheer _agony_, the sheer _Hell_ he had been through in three hundred long years of his existence.

He sighed and looked up at the sky. Pitch seemed willing to wait as long as it took. Through the clouds, he could make out the faint outline of the moon. It had to be that. He almost laughed and turned away, but the invisible beams filtered through the clouds and stroked his face.

It seemed as if the moon was even... trying to communicate, as he had noticed over the years. Occasionally the beams of the moon would brighten down on him, trying to reassure him and lay his troubles to rest. But while the hair on the back of Jack's neck stood up on end he realized that this was no reassurance.

It was a warning.

Jack felt an odd sense of clarity when he looked back at Pitch, who waited patiently next to him with his hands folded. "I'm listening," he said.

Abruptly, the winter spirit stood up and started to back away. "No," he said.

Pitch frowned. "No?" Jack could sense the edge in his voice. He walked away further, bare feet crunching against the hard snow of the arctic.

"No!" he repeated louder, more confident. "No, you're... this is all a trick!" He grit his teeth and continued to back away, shaking his head in disbelief. "I can't believe - I can't believe that I thought for a minute you would help me!"

"Jack," Pitch said smoothly, appearing beside him and laying a hand on his shoulder, ignoring the way the boy jerked away. He kept his hand there firmly; such a gesture might be considered comforting but Jack knew it would turn crushing any minute. "I told you, I'm here to listen to you. You wanted to hear what I had to say, after all, didn't you?"

"I didn't agree to anything," Jack retorted. "I... I don't need your help. This is YOUR fault!" he spat. He tried again to jerk away but a hard squeeze on his shoulder stopped the movement and made him hiss in pain, bowing his head.

"And how is it my fault?" asked the Nightmare King. The velvety, calm tone made Jack's knees wobble, made him want to give into whatever demands that Pitch wanted. But he was strong. He would not succumb to this. "I haven't done anything, Jack..."

Jack grit his teeth again and closed his eyes. "Yes, you did _everything_! You toyed with me and my emotions you threw me around you laughed at me and _now_ you expect me to talk it all out and listen to what you have to say?" He shook his head. "Th-they were right. They were right along. It's my fault."

Unwillingly, tears rushed to his eyes. Jack fought them back with all his might. He refused to shed any tears in Pitch's presence. "The Guardians were right about everything. And me. They were right about me."

He turned to look Pitch in the eye. "I am a Guardian, Pitch. Whether or not I like it, I know they're right. And I won't stand by and let you - much less help you - kill them. I-I'm... I'm going."

Apparently forgetting the grip on his shoulder when he turned away, Pitch dug his nails into Jack's shoulder and gave it such a hard squeeze that he heard a satisfying crunch while thick liquid bubbled from the marks and left holes in his hood. Jack stumbled and screamed, the tears returning with a vengeance and trickling down his cheeks like hot iron. The contact of his blood on his skin was burning and boiling and it _hurt._

"Stay right where you are," Pitch ordered softly, though his expression was full of contempt and malice. "It would have been so much easier if you had just... gone along with it, Jack. So why didn't you?" Jack was biting down hard on his lip as he tried not to answer. Pitch's nails dug deeper. "Answer me, boy." His tone still sounded so smooth and reassuring, but shadows rested deep in his words and wanted to force and pry Jack's mouth open until he spilled his secrets.

"Because," he ground out, "I'm a Guardian."

A defeated sigh escaped the Nightmare King's lips. "I thought you might say that. It's a shame, though, really. They never really believed in you, Jack. But _I _understand you." Jack's fingers tightened over the comforting wood in his other hand and it suddenly registered to them both that Jack still had his staff. He could still fight. With a cry, he swung the wood at Pitch, who surprisingly, caught the crook just before it came in contact with his face. Frost dripped form Pitch's fingers as icy lava, and his expression morphed into hatred.

"You don't understand _anything_," Jack hissed. "You're wrong, Pitch. You were wrong about the Guardians, you were WRONG about ME!" It was taking all of Pitch's willpower to keep Jack's power at bay with the shadows in his hand and he looked even surprised by it. "And I will _never_, _never _let you use me _**again**_!"

He wrenched the staff away and swung it again with ice bursting from the tip. Pitch dissolved into shadows and Jack realized a second too late that the Nightmare King was behind him.

"Such a pity," Pitch continued, "that I have to do this."

Jack felt pain rake his already bruising shoulder and let out another scream, stumbling back and dropping his staff as he tried to figure out what hit him. He landed hard in the snow, the sharp ground cutting into his back as he fell. His head lolled and he saw a small pool of blood gathering. But the blood did not freeze. It took a second for Jack to realize just how hot his blood was and just how much it felt like he was burning. He whimpered and tried to roll so that his shoulder was in the snow, to cool it off somehow. It was going to boil off his skin; of that he was sure.

The familiar wood of the crook of his staff suddenly pressed hard against his neck and Jack saw stars. It was as though a thick syrup was being poured down his throat and slowly sealing it up to prevent normal breathing. "Oh, Jack... Jack, Jack, Jack." Pitch's smooth voice was full of false pity. Jack's hands dug into the ground and scraped at the snow. He tried to roll away but Pitch tsked and pressed down harder on his throat, earning a wonderful, breathless rasp of a groan form Jack. "Why can't you just do as you're told? This would all be so much easier then... But now, I have to kill you, unless you agree to join me."

"You ca-an go to Hell, you b-bastard!" Jack snarled, but it turned into a yelp when Pitch cruelly pressed the staff against his throat again.

"I'm sure I'll see you there one day," Pitch smiled, looking positively pleased at Jack's choked gasps for air as he folded his hands over the end of the staff and leaned forward. Jack felt the metallic taste of blood rush in his throat and started to choke. Pitch relented and Jack rolled over onto his stomach, hacking blood into the snow. The burning substance was like acid, and he was sure it was eating away at his throat and the insides of his mouth._ I can't believe I'm going to die... _

Jack made a move to roll back over but stopped when a foot slammed into his shoulder with a loud crunch. No words escaped his mouth and his only expression was one of wide-eyed fright and unspoken pain. _He's really going to do it... he's going to kill me..._ Pitch stood in front of him, calmly tapping his free foot and dangling the end of the staff in front of Jack."Interesting. Your blood is much warmer than your body should be. It's like you're stuck in a giant boiler. I wonder..."

The crook of the staff hooked around his neck and pulled Jack's head up, suffocating him and worsening his condition every time he tried to move his head away. Soon, the vision of Pitch smiling above him began to fade, his blue eyes glazing over as warm lights filled his vision. They seemed too hot. He wanted to get away... get back to the familiar cold of a winter day... of snowball fights and frostbite and nose nippings...

"Sleep, Jack," Pitch's voice commanded. "_Sleep_..."

_But I don't want to die..._

Such power in such a simple word made Jack forget he was losing oxygen and stranded in the Antarctic with the secrets of his life so close too him and yet so far. The cold faded away into a lovely, warm glow of oranges and reds and yellows. A dizzy little smile lit up his face as the light left his eyes and he faded.

The moon beams brightened and filtered through the Arctic sky. The rest of what the Moon had to say would never reach Jack. Pitch broke the staff with a satisfying snap and tossed it beside the boy. He would be back to claim his prize... after he got rid of those pesky Guardians and any insufferable children who decided to stand in his way.


End file.
